


In Sickness and in Health

by talkswithwind



Category: Original Work
Genre: Asexual Relationship, F/F, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3089816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkswithwind/pseuds/talkswithwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara and Nichole got along pretty well before the whole getting-married thing. This story brackets their liberation and is pretty slice-of-life. It includes life-slices from the time they were still following the Rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness and in Health

**Author's Note:**

> As a warning, Sara's headspace is not a healthy one. If that kind of thing is triggery, you'll probably want to skip this one.

**In Sickness...**

Nichole's coughing echoes through the floorboards and makes me wince. I will catch that cold, but I pray it will hold off until after she makes her recovery. Times like these were always more mixed when we were both still in the Indiana house and under Master Stephen's daily thumb; sick women were pariah to him so got treated badly, but were allowed more care than we usually received. He wasn't here to allow me down there, so I had to make the most of my every-two-hours visits. All things considered, the misery Nichole is suffering is preferable to him being here.

The invisible clock in my head trips over its magic line and a visit becomes possible. I had been reviewing our finances, but Nichole trumps almost everything. I leave my laptop behind and start for the stairs, making a list of what needs to happen in the fifteen minutes I am allowed to be down there.

On my way downstairs I pick up a pair of vinyl gloves from our pantry. Nichole is amazingly fastidious when it came to sharing viruses, not that it did me much good. In the kitchen I fill a Thermos with hot soup, and head down.

It breaks my heart to see her curled up in her cage. She grunts at me, which is a positive sign. She called in sick yesterday and had spent all day cocooned in blankets on the couch. Growing ever more surly, as we both knew she would have to take herself down here at 6pm no matter what.

She is visibly shivering. I had cranked up the heat on the space-heater last night, but it obviously wasn't enough. The Rules prevent me from giving her a blanket, so she has to shiver naked in her tiny six and a half foot by three and a half foot cage. There are three other cages, empty, and room for two more to be installed. Master Stephen had plans; cruel ones.

“You're chilled to the bone, aren't you?” I say on the bottom step of the stairs, suppressing my impossible desire to crawl in there and cuddle her to get her warm again.

“Yup,” is her reply, “Thanks for trying.”

I finger the binder-clips I'd slipped into my skirt pocket when I picked up the gloves. “I want to try one more thing. Hang on, OK?”

“Okay,” she says with misery.

Her toilet bucket is lidded, so I add that maintenance to my chore list. From the laundry room I grab a fresh bucket, refill a water-bottle, and grab one of my sheets from the dryer. Due to the Rules I have to do all Cage Girl maintenance in one go, so I set things right at the threshold to the Cage Room. As soon as I cross that threshold, the clock starts.

I glove up and step in. Nichole sits up and pulls her feet back from the door. I fetch the clean bucket, water-bottle and thermos from the threshold and open her door. Her expression grows less surly, which draws a smile from me.

I hold up the thermos. “I made more soup for you.”

Her face falls into naked longing. “Can I bathe in it?”

“I didn't make quite _that_ much of it, I hope this will do.”

“Anything helps.”

I swap her water-bottles and put the thermos into the cup-holder I had installed after the conviction. I reach out and touch her ice-cold toes. Nichole closes her eyes and leans forward, which breaks my heart. I swap out her toilet-bucket and close the door again, as that really is all I'm allowed to do with the door open baring an actual emergency.

I walk beside the cage and keel beside her. I put my hand on her shoulder through the bars. “I'm sorry.”

Her head falls onto my hand. “Master Stephen demands, we do.”

Even though he was behind bars for a few thousand years, we continue and will continue until the end of our days. I give her a squeeze.

Nichole sighs. “I miss being warm.”

I withdraw my hand. “I have an idea, there.”

I grab the top-sheet from the hallway and use the binder-clips to attach the sheet to Nichole's cage. I cover the top and three sides, leaving a long side open. Next I haul the space-heater around to blow into the open side. I'm rewarded by Nichole slouching all the way down into flatness.

“Oh, God. Has anyone told you you're awesome? Because you are.”

“Not yet today. I'm glad it's helping. You can reach the clips in case you need to adjust the baffle.”

“Blessed warmness. Pardon me while I lay here a while.”

“Maybe tonight I can draw it all the way over? Maybe keep you warmer overnight.” The Rules prevent her from even thinking about a blanket, but I'm glad the idea of a cage-cover is permitted.

“Good idea,” she says, followed by a round of coughing. “I hate colds. Stupid jacked-up thermostat.”

“Anything else I can do when I come down next?”

“Um... could you prop up the corner there? It seems I'm not allowed to touch the clips and I can't see the stairs.”

We had learned the hard way that Nichole _really_ needs to be able to see the door out of the Cage Room. She never comes down here unless it's for laundry and I'm not able to do it. “Of course.”

I have to steal a binder-clip from the top bar, but I manage to get that corner clipped up so she can see me when I'm on the stairs. “How's that?”

“Good enough. Thank you.”

I lay my hand back on her shoulder. “Glad I could help.”

She lay her own chilled hand on top of mine. “You're awesome.”

I give her a squeeze as a way to say good-bye. On my way out I pick up the used toilet-bucket and bring it into the laundry room to clean and prep it. Another two hours until I can see her again, and maybe another sixty years of this.

#

The alarm on my cell went off. 2:45pm, time to rescue Sara. I saved up the Excel model I was working on, locked my computer and hunted up my boss. I found her in her office.

“Hey, Hilary. I just got a call from Sara.”

“Oh,” she said, looking up with concern on her face, “Nothing serious I hope.”

“Oh no. She's home sick today and just asked if I could be there for her. Would you mind if I took off early today?”

The official cover-story was that we were a couple. The trial for Master Stephen had made the papers here, but my workplace never connected the dots for what that meant for me. And I couldn't tell them. Sara worked as a City Attorney, her office connected the dots immediately and she never had to say a word. I could never figure out if it was better or worse to work for an office that knew.

“Of course,” said Hilary. “Is it the same thing that took you out last week?”

I sighed. “Yeah. I tried to not give it to her, but...”

“I know how that works. It's a miracle if one of my kids fails to get me sick. Go ahead. Will you need your time tomorrow?”

I grimaced. “I will. I'm not flexible on that.” _Fucking Date Night_.

She made shooing motions. “Scoot. See you tomorrow.”

I had a lot of practice with mid-day buses and getting home in time. It was very important that I get there before she started prepping for her own Date Night. I could lie in ways that won't violate the Rules she had to follow, which was better for her.

Sara stood up from the couch when I walked in the front door, blankets falling away. She sniffed wetly. “I was beginning to worry.”

“The buses agreed with me,” I said, hanging up my purse. “Let me get changed real quick and I'll be right up.”

“OK,” she said and stumped tiredly up the stairs.

In my room off the dining room, I shucked out of my suit and into more casual clothing. Short cotton skirt and a plain t-shirt. The indignity of having my underwear be considered 'office-wear' was an old pain. Sometimes my dreams featured me sleeping in my own bed with a covered ass. It was a nice dream.

When I got upstairs Sara had pulled the black and red custom corset out of the closet. She had the black thigh-highs on already and was just pulling the stilettos out. Makeup came later.

I picked up the corset laid out on her bed. “You ready?”

Sara coughed twice, then nodded. She hoisted her ample breasts out of the way so I could get the busk fixed. She dropped them and grabbed at her footboard for support so I could lace.

This was the biggest reason I had to be home. The Date Night rules were very clear on how tight the corset had to be. If she was putting it on herself she'd do so. If I did it, I could lie about how tight it was. This reduced the bruising she had to put up with for coughing while corseted. So far it had worked, neither of us had come down with pneumonia after a cold.

Back in Indiana, Master Stephen almost always exempted a sick woman from Date Night duties. Now that he was jailed for life, he wasn't around to wave it off. Bruised ribs were still better than having him around.

“You sure that's tight enough,” said Sara, probably noticing that I hadn't gone all the way.

“Yep,” I said.

She panted a bit before saying, “A bit more, please.”

I'd expected this, so I dutifully tightened it a smidge more. I was relying on her decreased pain tolerance to make the corset feel tighter than it was. “How's that?”

She panted. “Good.”

It was an inch off of where it 'should' be. _Yay_.

“Ready for makeup?” I asked.

She nodded, face pale.

I offered her my elbow and she took it. I escorted her slowly into her bathroom. As she applied her Date Night makeup I was reminded once again that Master Stephen and I had a similar tastes when it came to making Sara look awesome. When she was healthy, her corseted figure drew my eye like a magnet. I would have gone a bit further though, and added a bra and a black tank-dress. If that ever happened, I'd have to have pictures of that taken. Assuming I could get my hands off of her. _Stupid Rules_

Date Night paint applied, I guided her back to her bed so I could get her stiletto sandals on. Sara normally had excellent balance, but I wasn't going to take any chances. I wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her down the stairs as gently as I could.

“Sorry,” she whispered as we got to the dining room.

“Don't be. We're in this together. Let me get the blankets on the couch arranged, then you can sit.”

Sara grabbed the wall between the dining and living rooms as I rearranged the blankets. I got up and escorted her to the prepared spot and sat her down. Another coughing fit blew through her, so I had to hold on to her shoulders to keep her upright.

“Ug, stars,” she said between pants when she got done coughing.

She needed that fucking corset off, but it wasn't possible. I gave her shoulders a quick squeeze and then draped the blanket around her. An end over each shoulder, and the sides over her thighs. This way if Master Stephen impossibly showed up, Sara could leap to her feet with minimal thrashing. She would fight any more coverage, as I fought last week during the early stages of this death-cold.

After her breathing returned to its raspy normal, I settled in beside her. I could provide something else to lean against when coughing robbed her brain of oxygen. We'd watch recorded TV until she couldn't watch any more. If she needed to do something mindless she'd happily watch me practice on Xbox. I knew from experience that napping with that damned thing on was nigh impossible, my brain kept waking me up in a panic about suffocating.

I was happy to be there, as I had a lot to repay her for. Good thing she's so awesome.

**...and in health**

The tilapia smelled about done, so I tossed the rice and some chopped cilantro into a pot to warm it up. Over my shoulder I called, “Sara? Dinner's ready.”

I'd already set the kitchen table and set out the salad, so I slid a piece of fish onto each plate and dumped the rice into its bowl. After squeezing some lime-juice into a tiny pitcher, Sara showed up with a broad smile on her face.

“Smells wonderful,” she said.

She wasn't down to her base layer yet, her blouse was merely unbuttoned. At the time I had no idea if that was just Sara, or if it was Master Stephen's work. Buttoned or unbuttoned, I didn't mind.

I sat down. “Today I'm celebrating our mutual ability to smell and eat.”

Sara made a rueful grin and rubbed her left side. “Breathing only kind of hurts now.”

“I wish there was a way to get you out of that corset,” I said, spooning out some rice.

She remained mute, choosing to start on her salad.

We passed a few moments in companionable silence. Her joy in my cooking further cementing my resolve to keep doing it. Mondays and Thursdays were my show-off days, since I had time to get fancy. No Date Night in the way or cage time looming.

“You know, Sara,” I ventured after she'd moved on to the fish with obvious delight, “I'm pretty sure we're not going to be doing this forever.”

“We will,” she said with grim certainty.

This was one of my frustrations with Master Stephen. According to Sara, all of his early recruits were given a command that prevented them from thinking about what it would be like if they didn't have the rules. Apparently he wasn't sure of his powers yet or something. I came in late enough he stopped doing it. This meant I could think about things like what it would be like to have breakfast in a cafe on Saturday instead of on a tray in the basement in a cage. Sara, poor woman, saw a permanent future of cleaning out my toilet buckets and strapping in for a never to be fulfilled Date Night.

In my darker moments I wished I had been given that command too, it would make going down there every Friday less painful.

“I know you don't think so, but I'm pretty sure I'm right. Some of the things I've seen on Facebook from the Miami house say that more women got cleaned up than flew to Indianapolis. The FBI or someone has a mind controller around somewhere. Maybe they'll get to us sometime.”

Sara looked contemplative. “They needed it. Karen was an 'or else' kind of woman. I told Master Stephen she wasn't the best choice for the job, but he was more interested in her Spanish skills. Punishments like that work on five year olds, but adults hold grudges. Once Master Stephen wasn't there to back her up, I'm not surprised she started getting active resistance.” She sighed. “I'm glad they got the Miami house cleaned up. I saw his plans for there, and I shiver.”

“How did Willow do in Indianapolis after she took over from you?”

“Firmer than I was, but she kept a lid on the pressure cooker. She asked me for advice a lot, which I gave. It seems like she was doing kind of what I was; trying to keep people out of Master Stephen's eye. It helped a lot that he was distracted with here and Miami.”

“I keep thinking about what I'd ask a friendly mind-controller to fix. I know you can't, but I think I'd get rid of Date Night.”

“Date Night? That surprises me. I was sure you would give yourself your weekends back.”

Sara had no troubles imagining optimistic futures for me, damn the man. I poked at my rice. “It wasn't without some thought. Ditching Date Night gives us two whole evenings free to work on the house and just be normal. Also? Those corsets hurt and damage our health. My... cage time doesn't damage me physically.”

Sara was nodded and was quiet a while. I recognized the look, she was arguing with a Rule. When she got done, she said, “What would you ask him to do for me?” with averted eyes.

“Date Night.”

She smiled. “Besides that. We were given the same commands. If the other mind-controller could get it out of you, he could get it out of me. What's your wish for me?”

I gave it some thought. “You know, I'd probably ask him to get me out of the cage. It would free you up from a lot of work, since you wouldn't have to take care of a Cage Girl. Less poo that way. We could _really_ get the house worked on, then!”

Sara's face lit up. “That's a r....” she trailed off, her expression falling from delight to repressed panic.

_Fuck. Rule violation._

She pushed the chair back quickly, said, “Excuse me,” and bolted upstairs.

_Every. Damned. Time. Every time I try to give her a little hope, she steps on a landmine. Apparently Sara isn't allowed to have hope! Fuck you, Master Stephen. Fuck. You._

By the time I stood to clear the table, Sara was undoubtedly huddled naked between her bed and dresser, rocking, waiting for the violating thought to go away and the panic to recede. After half an hour I would bring up a plate for her and leave her be. On the plus side, she got huggy after an episode like that.

Repressing my own rage, I packaged up dinner and cleared the table.

**Until death do us part.**

The bathtub.

That cauldron in which we wash away our daily grime, its high sides sufficient to cleanse the muddiest of people. If the mud is merely psychic, there is but one way it can help.

Striking the chains from our minds was a glorious liberation, a joyful celebration of years of suppressed desire. _She loves me_ buoyed me beyond all shadow for days, the simple wonder of finally being allowed to touch, admire, and experience this woman was a delight beyond all imagination.

Nichole, finally in my bed at night.  
Nichole, whose hands rarely leave me.  
Nichole, free of that cursed cage.  
Nichole, to whom I can declare my love and not be stricken with panic.  
I committed acts _poetry_ for the first time in years.

The striking of the chains brought unconstrained freedom, but also brought unconstrained perspective. Decisions I had thought well made under the circumstances were seen in a new light. I had not been fighting to minimize damage, I had been complicit in Stephen's evil. I had held a little girl in my arms while Stephen made his newest recruit's husband not miss her, and sent that girl to see him so Stephen could make her forget her mother. I had allowed one of Stephen's worst friends to use a Cage Girl, even though I knew what he would do to her.

I am not worthy of wonder, delight, or joy.

I needed expiation. This cauldron would provide it.

So I stepped lightly down the stairs and go to the kitchen, where the needed tool was kept. It was there, with my fingers touching the black handled knife that my wonder, delight and joy jogged up the back steps. I took my fingers off.

“Good morning!” says Nichole brightly, sweat gleaming on her face and chest.

The shadow's grip on me lightens. I smile at the brightest thing in my life.

“You look blue,” she said as she stripped out of her running-bra.

I nod, not willing to break the silence I'd kept since waking.

She has lived with me a long time. She knows what silence means. She walks over and lays a hand on my waist, concern in her eyes.

Her very touch breaks the shadow's grip on me and I pull her into a hug. I feel her stiffen as she tries to keep her sweat off of me, but I am adamant. She softens into me and holds, kissing my temple, and whispering _I love you_. I breathe in her smell, willing that love to permeate me and soothe the char on my soul.

“Thank you,” I say.

“I'm here, babe. Not going away. Ever. I'm stubborn like that.”

The shadow flees into the recesses of my soul, flying from the light.

“Um, I take it you're going to shower when I'm done?” she said.

I chuckle. “Why not shower together?” I said, because I didn't want to let her out of my sight until we leave the car to go to our separate workplaces.

I love her more than my life. She is my hope, embodied.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the poetry Sara mentioned has been written. It may see the light of day sometime.


End file.
